


Noxious

by viceroyvonmutini



Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2016-07-25
Packaged: 2018-07-26 16:44:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7581925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viceroyvonmutini/pseuds/viceroyvonmutini
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erin promised to remember to thank Kevin for the gift this time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Noxious

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: Holtz x Gilbert + mini golf ... it's the first thing that came to mind and now I can't stop thinking about Holtzmann straddling a fake canon on a pirate ship.
> 
> I changed it slightly. Less pirate ship, more windmills. 
> 
> I haven't played mini-golf in three thousand years so I just made it all up, but it seems like the kind of game to include dragons.

Holtz struck a pose, arms hung around the back of the mini-golf club resting across her shoulders, as her leg entered the air at a bent thrust.

‘Ha _ha!_ I play to _win._ ’

‘I ain’t going down without a fight. Bring it, Holtzy!’

Holtz slid the club from behind her head in one fluid movement, leveling it at Patty’s head.

‘On guard, Tol-an.’

‘Okay, let’s put down the potentially lethal weapon,’ urged Erin, her own club hanging limp at her side. Holtz spun on her heel, weapon aimed at Erin who looked at it unflinchingly.

‘Scared, Gilbert?’

‘You. Wish.’

Holtz broke into a grin. ‘Harry Potter.’ She took a step back and lowered her club. ‘ _Nice.’_

Erin watched as she strode off towards the scattering of mini-golf courses, Patty following close behind. She allowed herself a shy smile, watching as Holtzmann leapt across the small golfing greens.

‘Alright, where we going?’ asked Patty, voice echoing.

‘Beats me,’ called back Holtzmann. ‘Be ready to _lose.’_

‘Say that to my face!’

‘Guys, come on. We’re doing this right,’ commanded Abby, coming up to stand behind Erin. ‘First hole’s that way.’

Holtz turned around and noted where Abby was pointing, before delivering her signature salute. Erin watched, lost somewhere between Holtzmann and reality.

‘You okay?’ asked Abby, eyes on her friend.

‘Yep. Yep. Yes. Let’s…go play some golf.’

Abby shot her a look, one that Erin refused to meet, instead marching forward with the determination to completely ignore Abby and her all-too-knowing looks.

Abby sighed, resigning herself to silence on the matter.

‘Whatever you say,’ she muttered. ‘Last one to the first hole is a loser!’

Erin yelped as Abby brushed past her, chasing after the others.

‘Guys!’ called Erin, running after Abby, knowing that she’d never hear the end of it if she lost.

Erin lost, coming to stop at the start of the mini-golf course; hot on the heels of Abby, but indisputably last.

‘Whup, looks like you lost,’ chirped Abby, slightly out of breath. Erin wasn’t fairing much better.

‘It wasn’t fair, you cheated.’

‘I did not.’

‘You lost fair and square Gilbert,’ ruled Patty, in that tone Erin would never even think of arguing with.

‘I now dub thee Knight of Losers.’ Holtz jumped down from the small, raised ledge she was stood on that fenced the artificial green. ‘Do you accept this title?’

Erin sighed in resignation, just enough to show reluctance.

‘Yes. Fine. Can we please play the game?’ she pleaded.

‘I knight thee, Erin Gilbert: Knight of Losers, Protector of the Realm, Upholder of Righteous Things, and also, a loser.’

Erin didn’t have time to dodge the golf club that now hurtled towards her shoulder. She felt a light tap as she watched Holtzmann’s look of concentration, trusting the woman not to take out her entire shoulder with a rogue swing.

Holtz grinned as she completely the ritual, and Erin looked away.

‘ _Now_ can we play?’ asked Patty.

‘That’s what I’ve been saying,’ agreed Erin, eager to get this started.

‘Step aside,’ commanded Holtzmann, parting the others with a wave of her club and stepping up to the mark. The first hole was a straightforward shot. She had this.

‘Uh Holtz? Need a ball?’ reminded Abby. ‘What colour?’

‘Green please Abby,’ she replied, getting in a few practice swings.

Radioactive, luminescent green. Erin’s mouth twitched in a smile that might almost have been considered fond.

 

* * *

 

 

The mini-golf had been a gift from Kevin. He was going away for a week, to the 73rd Annual How’s Waldo Conference in Iowa-

_(‘Uh, I think you mean Where’s Waldo…’_

_‘Nope. How.’_

_Patty didn’t have it in her to dispute it. ‘Alright then. How’s... Waldo it is.’)_

-and had presented the girls with four free passes for a day out mini-golfing as a gift to remember him by while he was gone. Or something. Thinking on it, Erin felt it could have been a lot worse – like a modelling shoot, or an Ultimate Frisbee Fun Pack, or tickets to see one of his plays. That he had written. And starred in. With a small, amateur, experimental, self-proclaimed avant-garde theatre group.

Once – all four had agreed – was enough.

They were proud of him, though.

Still, Erin hadn’t really wanted to come. It wasn’t that she didn’t like to have fun, it was just that she found it very hard to actually _have_ fun. It made her fidgety, and uncomfortable, and self-conscious to let loose. She was fine, really, once she got into it. It was just the…getting into it, bit.

In the end it had been Holtzmann who convinced her to come. It had been Holtzmann, not Abby, who’d convinced her to say yes and indulge. Not that Holtzmann specifically knew that, and not that Erin wanted consciously to admit that it was Holtzmann who had sold the idea of mini-golf to her. Holtzmann – who, mid-Jefferson Starship solo, had shot her a look and, humming along to the song, convinced her with a patient grin and an expectant gaze that she might have fun. That they wanted her to go. That she wanted to go, and that it was worth it to go, and that Holtzmann would be there having fun, and Abby would be there trying to keep score, and Patty would be there and in it to win and yes, okay, maybe Kevin had been unintentionally thoughtful in his gift-giving this time.

And so, after leaving Benny in charge of the phones, here she was, watching Holtzmann leap over a miniature blue plastic river that cut across the course of Hole 7 trying to work out the perfect angle of attack.

‘Come _on_ Holtzy. Get your shit together.’

Holtz ignored her as Abby nodded along to Patty’s frustration.

‘This is why we don’t play board games,’ accused Patty. ‘Because of _you_ taking three hours to make _one move._ ’

‘It’s all in the swing,’ reminded Abby, sagely.

‘Can you imagine if we played Monopoly? Risk?’ asked Patty, turning to Abby in demand of an answer to her question.

Abby shook her head. ‘Once with Erin is more than enough.’

‘Erin?’

’45 minutes _just_ to swap ten men for a cannon piece in Siam.’

‘Hey! It was a cannon there or defend South America! And I had to think about you attacking from Africa. And-‘

’45 minutes. One. Move.’

Patty shook her head. ‘Jesus.’

The three stood back and watched as Holtz straddled the width of the river.

‘Hey…Holtz?’ tried Erin, tentatively; soft enough to think that she might have to repeat herself, but Holtz turned her head.

‘Hm?’

‘What if you…hang on.’ Erin stepped onto the course, gesturing with her club. ‘Hit it here so then you get the rebound with enough velocity-‘ Holtz was nodding along slowly. ‘-that you should be able to use the slight…’

‘Right. But the angle-‘

‘Hit that.’

Erin pointed to an area of chipped brown paint on the course boundary, exposing flecks of white plaster underneath.

Holtzmann grinned.

‘Gilbert: top notch.’

Erin smiled slightly. ‘Thanks.’

Holtzmann’s grin widened – or somehow grew brighter, Erin wasn’t sure – before that manic quality returned: that face reserved for scientific success, and the mini-golf victory she could practically taste.

Abby and Patty shared a look; a look that they had become far to accustomed to sharing and that conveyed something along the lines of ‘Oh look, our two friends are once again reaching some kind of flirtatious connection that goes beyond strictly platonic, but neither of us can really say anything, can we, because they have to figure it out for themselves, or at least address it themselves, because they must know, they’re just too chicken to talk about it, and so we have to stand here and watch this sickening display in silence.’

Patty chose to break their shared moment of despair.

‘You are helping the _enemy_ Gilbert, do you know that?’

Erin snapped her gaze away from Holtzmann readying her shot and came back to stand beside the others, watching the ball sail smoothly towards its goal.

 

* * *

 

 

Erin wasn’t the competitive type. Not really. She wasn’t the sort to get violent with Monopoly money, or far too invested in a game of Mario Kart. She was generally apathetic towards that kind of thing, she felt: not really into it, or bothered by it. Erin wasn’t competitive. She wouldn’t call herself inherently competitive.

Abby and Patty, and definitely Holtzmann, disagreed. And if there was one thing Holtzmann enjoyed, it was pushing Erin Gilbert to stand up in that way she rarely did, full of confidence and conviction, and show she had something to prove. The desperate need Erin had for approval from people not worth her time concerned Holtz: the constant assumption that something was unworthy in her thoughts almost went so far as to anger the un-angerable Holtz. In Holtzmann’s humble opinion, the very fact that Erin Gilbert ever in her life had ever been made to feel as if her theorems and ideas were less than absolutely pursuable, worth the time, and brilliant, was a great universal wrong that she would, if it came down to it, right with a Radium-laced mug of coffee over a period of three-to-four months. But, in the context of fun and games, getting Erin Gilbert riled up and competitive was definitely one of the Top Ten Most Enjoyable Things in the Known and Unknown Universe At This Time.

And so it wasn’t entirely without ulterior motive that Holtzmann, during a key Hole 11 shot, stood behind Erin with a hand deep in a back of Chili Heat Wave Doritos and muttered a single phrase so softly only Erin could hear.

‘Don’t miss.’

Erin did. She missed, over-shooting by a wide margin and causing the small, blue golf ball to ricochet wildly until it came to rest in a corner, just behind a plastic gnome.

Erin turned to her left, face inches from Holtz’s own.

‘Holtz.’

Holtz’s eyes were wide, mid-crunch through a Dorito.

‘Oops.’

‘Holtz! Come on!’

Holtz shrugged.

‘That’s sabotage.’

‘It’s not technically _sabotage_ if you’re not in the competition,’ remarked Holtz, lightly.

Erin looked at her, and Holtz swore she saw her eyes narrow.

‘Who said I wasn’t in the competition?’

‘Patty said you wouldn’t want to, cuz you think this is a waste of time. _And_ you didn’t want to come in the first place.’

‘But I did come!’

‘Hey don’t drag me into this,’ called Patty. ‘But she’s got a point.’

Erin spun round to face Patty.

‘You too?!’

Holtzmann continued to munch.

‘It’s not like you can win-‘ at this Abby began to motion for Patty to stop right there, but Patty remained oblivious, and unwisely continued ‘-what with me and Holtzy kicking-‘

‘I’m in.’ ‘Holtz munched. ‘I’m playing to win.’

‘You gonna try and beat Holtz? And me?’

Erin nodded.

‘For the record,’ muttered Holtz, still stood deep in Erin’s personal space, ‘I think you can do it.’

Erin spun to face her once again, but didn’t have a response. Holtz held out her family size bag of Doritos.

‘Chip?’

Erin looked at them.

‘Where were you even…?’

Holtz grinned.

 

* * *

 

 

Two lunch breaks and a Starbucks later-

_(Abby: Holtz, you hate Starbucks._

_Holtz: Addicts aren’t picky._

_Abby: (muttered) Addicted to Erin, maybe._

_Holtz: Erin! Frappacappachino was it?)_

\- and Hole 32 loomed. The Last Hole. The Windmill. Or The Shredder, as Holtz had affectionately dubbed it.

Technically it wasn’t the actual Last Hole. That had been the Dragon One, but Abby had given up on trying to hold order when she lost Holtz to the large, green plastic dragon that inhabited one of the courses at around Hole 24. The affectionate petting Holtz had given the creature was trumped only by Erin’s attempt to fish her blue ball out of the belly of the beast, by crawling head first into the mouth of said plastic dragon.

Patty had fallen out of the running at, according to Abby’s notes, Hole 16: The Spider. 30+ puts in and around the legs of the spider that guarded the winning hole well and truly defeated her. Abby herself was never really in it to win, which left Holtzmann and Erin tied for first place at a score of 31 each – surprisingly good for a 32 Hole Family Fun Mini-Golf Course Tournament.

Holtzmann sized up the obstacle, knowing Erin wouldn’t concede helpful data this time.

Patty had 20 dollars on Erin letting Holtz win.

Abby, knowing her friend a little better, confidently met the odds, with 20 dollars on Holtzmann conceding willingly to Erin.

Erin watched Holtz line up her shot and wait for a gap in the deadly, ridged, spinning plastic windmill blades. She was unusually still, not even a foot tapping as she took the shot.

It rebounded, missing the small tunnel through the windmill. It took four more tries before she finally made it through, air pumping in victory before running round to the other side of the obstacle – careful to avoid the blades – and making the final easy shot.

Erin couldn’t help but watch Holtz’s victory dance with a certain affection, despite their temporary rivalry.

‘Alright Erin, you have to beat that to win,’ called Abby, and Erin nodded her assent with serious determination, stepping up to the mark.

‘She’s gonna miss on purpose,’ muttered Patty, confident in being 20 dollars richer.

Abby shook her head. ‘There’s no way. Erin would never.’

Patty scoffed. ‘You might think you know your friend, but your friend has never been 12 feet deep in love before now.’

‘Exactly why,’ whispered Abby, with rasping insistence, ‘Holtz will concede. Or help her out.’

‘Nuhuh Abs. Trust me. And anyway, you don’t win the money if Erin just _wins_. Holtz has to say the words. “I let the victory go to Erin, love of my life-‘

‘-perfect quark of my eye-‘

‘-flower of my being Gilbert.” Or something.’

The two shared a sly smile.

‘If neither concedes, neither of us wins,’ affirmed Abby, slightly more seriously, before raising her voice. ‘Come on Erin! I believe in you!’

‘Yes thank you, Abby, for completely ruining my concentration,’ muttered Erin, loud enough for only Holtz to hear.

‘Keep the eyes on the prize,’ crooned Holtz. ‘Eyes on the prize.’

‘Don’t you want me to lose?’

‘I could go either way.’

Holtz shrugged as she spoke, walking away to stand by the whole on the other side of the windmill. Settling into position, she gave Erin a double thumbs up and Erin shook her head to clear her mind, and trying not to think too hard about the smile on her face, or the warm fuzzy feeling coursing through her body at the thought of Holtzmann being…Holtzmann. The thought of Holtzmann letting her win mini-golf: encouraging her no matter what. Erin shook her head more vigorously this time. Now, in the heat of battle, was not when she wanted to address those thoughts and feelings and other things about Jillian Holtzmann that had her undivided attention.

She took a deep breath, lined up her shot, and took aim. It missed, bouncing off the tip of a windmill blade and coming up right back in line with where she started. Erin tried again, this time hitting a little more softly, and the ball fell short of the windmill. Erin came to stand by the side of her golf ball, thinking how best to approach her final two chances at complete domination.

It was Holtzmann, with her keen observational skills, who noticed the way the flimsy fabric of Erin’s shirt caught on one of the ridged blades; and it was Holtzmann who saw that the rotation was stronger than previously anticipated, and therefore wasn’t stopping even with the added weight of an Erin Gilbert to lift. And so it was Holtzmann who ended up on the ground beneath Erin’s back, as Erin was dragged forward, yelped, tried to pull away, succeeded, tripped over her own heel, and tumbled down, back landing on the surprisingly soft ground, before she realized she had fallen on one Jillian Holtzmann who had run forward to try and unhook Erin, but had ended up cushioning her fall instead.

The two lay, eyes up towards the sky. The distant laughter of Patty and Abby echoed around them.

‘You okay?’ asked Holtzmann, in that soft voice Erin had learned to listen to with undivided rapture.

‘I am so sorry Holtzmann, I-oh God I must be hurting you oh my God!’

‘It’s cool,’ assured Holtz, even as Erin scrambled to push herself up and off her, conscious of being on top of Jillian Holtzmann, and having extended full body contact with Jillian Holtzmann, and the way she was definitely sweating, and the way Holtzmann smelled all Holtzmann-y and warm, and how she probably smelled like anxiety, and conscious that she was hurting Jillian Holtzmann who had pretty much saved her in a really gallant way, and how that was definitely adorable, and about all the other stuff that went along with Jillian Holtzmann in her head that she didn’t necessarily want, nor was capable of, repressing.

‘If you wanted to win that bad you could have just said so,’ teased Holtz, accepting a helping hand from Erin as she jumped up. Abby and Patty came up next to them, still half in stitches.

‘That was hil _ar_ ious,’ cackled Patty, and Abby was still giggling, not even trying to stop herself.

‘Yeah yeah, thanks guys. Anyway, I think I moved my ball in the fall. Anyone see it?’ Erin began to spin on the spot, trying to locate the vital piece of sports equipment.

‘It doesn’t matter; we need tacos. Stat.’ An arm found it’s way around Erin’s shoulder. ‘All that cheesy, spicey goodness.’

‘You just _keep_ eating, don’t you?’ remarked Patty, sounding suitably impressed.

‘Never stop. Except when I do.’

‘Why don’t you eat an apple?’ suggested Erin pointedly, shooting Holtz a look, and Holtz shot her a smirk.

‘Warheads,’ she mouthed, being sure to articulate.

‘Apple flavouring does not count, Holtz.’

‘So who won, anyway?’ interrupted Patty, innocently.

‘Erin can win,’ replied Holtz, without too much thought into it, patting Erin’s shoulder as best she could with her hand.

With that final announcement, she considered the matter closed and sauntered off with Erin in tow, trapped - not against her will - by the arm around her shoulder.

Patty handed Abby the money.

 

* * *

 

 

‘Hey Holtzmann,’ tried Erin, setting down a full mug of black coffee on the edge of the nearest table, pushing aside a few scrap pieces of metal as gently as possible. Erin couldn’t see the engineer, but she knew she’d be here somewhere.

‘I brought you coffee.’

Erin tried to ignore the fact that her voice was full of repressed nerves, and false enthusiasm, and that she was trying way, _way_ to hard to sound normal. And okay. And fine. And not about to break into awkward, nervous laughter that made her sound ever so slightly deranged and just a little weird.

Sure enough, Holtzmann slid out from beneath a machine to her left, and stood up.

‘Sweet.’

Erin watched as slightly dirty hands grasped the mug, and Holtzmann took a quick, hamster-esque sip. Noticing Erin was still watching her – was still in her lab – Holtz fixed her with an expectant look.

‘Can I help, Ms. Gilbert. Erin.’

Erin couldn’t help herself. She laughed. Nervously. Half giggling. Completely out of it.

‘Yes. No. I mean…a little.’ Holtz waited, eyebrows raised. ‘The other day you…caught me…that was sweet. Of you. And this was not where I wanted to start this…you are really, _really_ nice. To look at. And talk to. And other things. And I would like…really would like to, I mean would you – _will_ you – go with me, somewhere. A date. Is what that is called. A. Date.’

Erin trailed off, torn between wanting to look up at Holtzmann to gauge her reaction, and wishing one of her deadly machines would explode and bury her in a coffin of Plutonium.

Holtz coughed. Erin kept her eyes down, twisting her hands together. If she had looked, she would have seen the pure, unadultered joy on Holtzmann’s face, before the abject terror set in, before the amazed joy worked its way back as her mind quickly reasoned that yes, real emotions were scary, and Erin Gilbert was therefore the singular most terrifying thing ever conceived by the infinite universe, but that it was in fact Erin Gilbert who made her feel different, and fuzzy, and Erin Gilbert who had set in like a noxious gas, taking all her logical brain and leaving only the notion that she never leave Erin’s side. That she should seek her out, bask in her presence just to get that nice feeling again, and that Erin Gilbert happy made her happy, and she should therefore try to _make_ her happy in – admittedly – a very unique, and Holtzmann-ish way.

Luckily for her, she was now aware, all of her efforts were not futile, and like a neon sign going off in her head Erin Gilbert could, under the right circumstances, be made to react. Holtzmann was just happy it was her: that she was the right circumstances.

Holtz put down her mug and sat down, sliding back under her machine. Erin still didn’t look up.

‘Bowling.’

Erin’s eyes shot up and over to the device Holtz had disappeared under.

‘What?’

‘Bowling. You know: stuff to do.’ Holtz wasn’t quite there at the ‘date’ word yet. It was too unreal. Imaginary. She liked it though. That thought. The ‘date’ word. She could get there.

‘For…for a date?’

‘You like it?’

Erin had never really thought of bowling as a good idea for a first date between two relatively mature adult women, but then this was Holtzmann, and Erin couldn’t stop grinning.

‘Yes. Yes. I do. Yes.’

‘Nice. I know a place.’ Holtzmann’s head popped out from under her machine. ‘It’s got Dance Dance Revolution,’ she revealed with childlike enthusiasm, before winking and heading back to her work. She disappeared, but not before Erin noticed the insuppressible smile on her face, matching her own.

‘Okay then! Great! A date. Bowling. And…dancing. Tomorrow?’

‘Mmmm,’ hummed Holtz, muffled beneath the containment facility she was trying to tweak, but was failing, because Erin Gilbert had technically just asked her out. ‘10pm. Be there or be square.’

’10. Great. Yep. Okay. Yes.’

She was still grinning.

‘I’ll pick you up at the door,’ affirmed Holtz.

Erin laughed at the teasing. Or maybe in delight. She didn’t know. Didn’t care.

‘Gotcha. 10pm. Cool.’

She practically skipped to the stairs – probably would have if she were anyone else. She lingered at the top of the stairwell.

‘Can’t wait,’ she muttered to herself, full of affection towards the woman hidden beneath a deadly contraption, before heading downstairs to finish up some notes and plan what to wear.

For her date.

With Jillian Holtzmann.


End file.
